


Take Me Home

by Lauren_is_a_moron



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Death, F/M, Mystery, Paranormal, but cute, this is kinda sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 18:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14502501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauren_is_a_moron/pseuds/Lauren_is_a_moron
Summary: Summary: Betty Cooper loses her two best friends and her boyfriend in a car crash but has no memory of the crash, and finds herself spiralling with guilt, confusion and pain. Betty throws herself into the nightlife, finding one night stands with anyone, and drinking away the agony.  Worried for her daughter’s health, Alice Cooper admits her to a three month stay at Riverdale’s Young people’s psychiatric ward for group therapy where hopefully her memories can be restored. But instead Betty finds her past coming back to haunt her. In the form of the ones she lost.“Are you real?” She couldn’t help herself. It was like word vomit, mixing with real vomit as her throat burned. Suddenly those six shots didn’t seem like such a good idea. She hesitated before running her hand up his chest, grasping hold of his shirt and really feeling for it, to see if he would splinter into atoms, or morph into a completely different face. But he stayed. Betty pawed at his chest, grasping hold of his arms, her voice choked with sobs. “How- how are you real?”





	Take Me Home

**Author's Note:**

> i listened to Evil Morty's theme the entire time writing this, it seemed so fitting lmao - also about the name;I was thinking up this idea while shopping, and this song (Jess Glynne - Take Me Home) came on the radio, and I fell in love with it. I highly recommend it, it's beautiful <3

It was hard to forget. Yeah, it’s pretty easy to forget things like people’s birthday’s, or a specific item on a shopping list. You can even forget someone’s face if you hadn’t spoken to them in a while. Like everything else, it drifts into oblivion in your mind, and you don’t even think twice. Maybe you might randomly think of them years from now, when you’re happily married with children. But that’s the thing. It’s easy to forget thing’s like that. But for Betty Cooper, it’s different. Because those faces she knew? She was supposed to know them for a hell of a lot longer than she did. They were supposed to grow up together. They were supposed to bring up these specific memories of old faces and names together. But instead, Betty had lost them.

And of course, when someone you are close to dies. It hurts. It hurts so fucking much, and you can’t explain the feeling. It’s like a piece of you has broken off, like there’s a specific part of you that’s missing, and you’re constantly pawing at darkness, at the long stretch of oblivion in front of you, trying to grab for it- for them. But they’re gone. They’re not coming back. And you have to live with it. You have to get along with your life and pretend you’re okay.

Well, Betty didn’t pretend she was okay. She didn’t pull her usual Girl Next Door smile and hope people would believe it and see through the facade that she was desperately trying to build around her crumbling self.  Instead, Betty stopped going to school. Once a straight A student, she dropped to C’s and D’s and never even glanced at her report card, which scared her parents. _Yeah, our daughter’s closest friends are dead, but college applications are soon!_ was their rather selfish mindset. Since the past few months, Betty had gone off the rails. A parent's worst nightmare; stumbling through the door at 3am, steaming drunk and dishevelled. That’s the way she liked it. If Betty wasn’t thinking, then she was happy. And what’s the best way to completely shut your mind off? You guessed it! Six shots of vodka and half a glass of wine.

But the numb feeling never lasted. It wasn’t permanent and she knew it. Betty might have argued to her parents that she drank herself paralytic because she wanted to _feel_ something. When in actuality, she wanted the opposite. The thing you have to understand is Elizabeth Cooper was the face of Riverdale. She was the blonde haired and blue eyed future president. She was voted most likely to get into one of the big college’s. She definitely wasn't the first girl you would think of to crash a car into a lake, and send her friends to their deaths. Betty didn’t care about the stares she got, the wicked side-eyes. The whispers in the crowd that she should be in jail for manslaughter. That’s why she drank. That’s why she let herself loose every single night, regardless of it being a school night. Even if she was blissfully ignorant of the damage she was doing to herself, she _knew_ deep down that it was pure guilt. Guilt that her friends were dead, guilt that she didn’t remember how they had died. What had gone wrong.

The only thing she could remember were what happened before. Jughead in the passenger seat next to her, complaining about Archie's shit taste in music. The four of them singing loudly to a Queen song that she couldn’t remember the name of. They were good memories. Memories she wanted to stay in her mind forever. Though no matter how much she dug, how many therapy sessions she went to, she couldn’t remember those moments before the crash. It didn’t make sense. Betty had been found lying in the shallows while her car with her friend’s still strapped inside had sunk to the bottom. How had she gotten out? How did anyone have any time to throw her out of the car, before they crashed into the river? Betty knew what it should have been. It should have been all four of them who were supposed to die. Because her survival didn’t make sense. And it killed her that she couldn’t remember what happened.

Betty’s therapist was called Laura, and she smelt like lavender every time she leaned forward to give Betty a hug. Laura never forced her to do anything she want to do. Sometimes she let Betty talk about happy memories. Her first kiss with Jughead, growing up with Archie. Shopping and sleepover’s with Veronica. And Laura was sit there for the whole session and listen intently.

As sweet as Laura was though, the therapy wasn’t working. Betty wasn’t feeling any better, and the town were no closer to finding out what happened to Archie, Veronica and Jughead.

It was all a foggy mess in her mind, and the only way of suppressing the constant overthinking, the blaming on herself, and the urges to end it herself, was bourbon straight from the bottle burning the lining of her throat which sent all her thoughts and worries drifting away so she could lull in her own little bubble, where not even her mother’s piercing cry could penetrate, when she was stumbling through the door at 3am. Most of the time, Kevin was there. Kevin Keller. The boy she knew secretly blamed her for the other’s death. But he still stuck with her. He still rubbed circles into her back when she was throwing up her stomach lining, and the boy almost always there looking flustered and choking out apologies to Betty’s parents for both the mess of their living room carpet, as well as the state of their daughter he had draped over his shoulder. Alice Cooper didn’t know what to screech at. The fact that Betty had vomit splattered all over the front of her dress, or that she was even wearing something so revealing. _Before_ Betty wouldn’t dream of wearing such a dress. But now she wore it like a _fuck you_ to everyone.

The day after the funeral, she had cleaned out her room of any photos of them, any traces, and stuffed them in a box, burying them in the backyard. Her mother had found her a few hours later, curled up in the white dress she had worn for the wake. Veronica had always loved the dress, and Betty believed the girl would have wanted her to wear it. Alice Cooper had found her daughter lying in the dirt, her fingernails black as she sobbed into her mother’s flowers. _I killed them_ had been the only thought in her mind. Alice had thought it best to leave Betty alone, which seemed like the right thing to do. Except the voices didn’t stop. They became a persistent murmur in her head, thrumming against her skull. And no amount of screaming into her pillow, sleeping the world away or blasting music through her headphones could dull them. So Betty had found a cheap bottle of wine in the refrigerator. After a few gulps, she realised that the voices were slowly getting vaguer and vaguer, until they were incoherent whispers.

When Betty had finished off the whole bottle in her room, she had rolled over in her bed to sleep, and her world was spinning, her stomach was galloping, but her mind was deathly quiet.

Since finding the solution to drowning the voices, the pent up guilt and frustration inside of her, Betty continued to drink. She would go rooting in her parents wine cellar until she wanted something stronger. Something to really send her to tinsel town, and let her wallow there. Then she found the beauty of night clubs. Even if she was sixteen, Betty could make herself look at least eighteen. And once she was there, hopping up and down with strangers, drinking till she threw up on some stranger’s fancy heels, she didn’t want to stop. She _never_ wanted to stop.

It became a pattern. Night after night, The Cooper’s door would fly open, and there the perfect girl next door would be. Except she wasn’t giggling, clutching her boyfriend Jughead Jones’ arms as the two of them staggered in, high on each other. Alice Cooper could cope with that. Even if she knew that sex would follow suite. But Jughead was dead, and Betty was instead choking on her own vomit, laughing loudly about nothing in particular while mocking Kevin’s pleads for her to be quiet. Though even with his best friend being in that state, Kevin couldn’t stop the smile curling on his lips. Betty hardly ever smiled. Only when she was drunk.

“Elizabeth Cooper!” Alice Cooper had yelled. Betty just smiled brightly at her mother. Her only thought was pondering where the bathroom was, and if there was such thing as politely vomiting. Turns out there wasn’t, and she owed Kevin a new pair of converse.

”Oh, Miss Cooper!” Kevin would sputter, while trying to drag Betty’s weight up the stairs. Alice Cooper would swallow the cry building in her throat and smile through gritted teeth.

“Kevin, I’ll take it from here.” she’d say, before narrowing her eyes at the boy. “I thought you said you were taking her to the movies.” and Kevin would stumble through his way of an explanation which wasn’t the truth; “Betty blackmailed me into going clubbing with her.” which she had done. Betty knew Kevin cared about her, even if her paranoia screamed that it was all a front and that her secretly hated her. But Betty no longer cared about being hurt. There was nothing left of her to be hurt. She was already shattered. Losing _them_ had done that to her. So she didn’t exactly give a fuck about hurting other people. Even one of her closest friends.

Betty’s appearance had changed drastically, since she no longer cared. She had cut her hair with blunt scissors, dyeing streaks of it purple, so she didn’t have to look in the mirror and see Betty Cooper. The girl who had killed her boyfriend and best friends. She just saw- Girl. Girl with ratty hair streaked different shades of purple. Girl who had no feelings. Girl who was spiralling fast, and no matter how hard she tried to stop herself, she couldn’t. Betty had been twirling dark blue strands of her newly dyed hair as she eyed Kevin Keller with her usual sly smirk.  She was pale, so pale. Her attempt at makeup was splashed all over her face, her lips smudged scarlet. Betty’s face was gaunt from not eating, her eyes sinking into their sockets.

So she had stood, swaying slightly, from her one person pre-drinks session, in the boy’s room, earlier on that day. “Kevin,” she’d murmured. “Come clubbing with me.” she would try and pull her usual puppy-dog eyes, and normally it worked. At least in the _Before._ Now, however, she just looked constipated. However, it had worked. Because Betty didn’t need to say anything else. Kevin knew that she had already made her mind up, even if it was the night before that her mother had caught her steaming drunk in his arms on the threshold of the Cooper home. Betty was already dressed in that specific white dress that she had worn for the funeral, and her eyes were slanted shut. She had even made an effort with her hair, curling it so it cascaded in dyed purple streaks down her back. Betty figured herself as some kind of anti Disney princess.

And tonight, Kevin Keller would be her prince. Betty did a twirl in the dress, staggering when the room spun with her. “Come on!” she had insisted. “It’ll be fun!”

There was no arguing with her, and Kevin knew he had no choice but to follow her. There was no way he was letting her go to a club on her own. And of course Betty took advantage of his kindness. She didn’t mean to. There was this voice at the back of her head telling her to _drink, drink, drink_ her problems away. So far it had worked. So why stop?

Betty Cooper had been grinning, and as much as Kevin knew she was going to get herself into a state again, he couldn’t resist that smile. It was like old Betty had come back for a moment.

“Fine,” Kevin had rose from his bed, still holding the comic book he had been invested in. He had taken her skinny arms and squeezed them. “But promise me, Betty.” he murmured. “No drinking, okay?” Betty hated how his eyes narrowed, wrinkles streaking across his forehead as if he was about to ask the questions burning on his tongue for so long; _What did you do, Betty?_

_How did they die, Betty?_

_Why can’t you remember, Betty?_

But Kevin didn’t say any of that. He just smiled softly, his blue eyes kind. “Promise me you won’t go overboard.” he said softly. And she had nodded, rolling her eyes. “Cross my heart and hope to die.” she’d said, without thinking, and Kevin winced before nodding and pulling on his smartest t-shirt. Kevin was sweet. He was kind. But he was naive. Betty smiled in all the right places as he told her about the comic book he was reading as he grabbed his jacket, keys and left a note for his dad scribbled in blue biro. But she knew she what she was going out to do, and just the thought sent shivers running up and down her spine. She was going to numb herself again. It had been a day, and she was already hearing them again. The voices whispering to her, calling out to her- teasing and taunting her; _What happened to us, Betty? What happened?_

She had to be numb.

~*~

Betty didn’t believe in ghosts. When you die, you’re dead. That was her outlook. There was no warm golden light lifting you to an eternal resting place. There was no purgatory full of restless souls seeking for a way to heaven. That was all bullshit to her. But when Jughead died, she felt like a part of him had been left behind and it had been nagging at her for months now, constantly in the back of her mind. Sometimes she saw him in the crowd out and about. But it was of course an illusion, a trick of her eyes. It was just a boy with his smile, his bright eyes, his floppy fringe.

But this was different. Betty knew she was drunk since the world was lit up, spinning, sparkling, a Tim Burton fever dream in front of her eyes as she spun and twirled on the dance floor, falling into dancing bodies and jumping up and down, trying to reach the sky. She was dizzy, she was happy, she was laughing- she was even crying. Betty felt tears dribbling down her cheeks and she could taste the salt mixing with her raspberry  lip gloss. Why was she crying?

She wasn’t sure if it was the neon lights flashing in her eyes, bathing her in warm perspiration, or the music pulsing in her ears filling her with that wonderful intoxicating feeling that made her feel euphoric. Then again, it might have been something to do with the six shots she had already downed, but the boy- the boy who’s waist she had her arms clamped around, the boy whose breath was in her face, his eyes a whole new shade of green that made her chest hurt. The boy who definitely wasn’t a ghost- was him. It was Jughead. There was no mistaking his sweet smile, his warm eyes as they stared deep into her eyes. He even smelt like Jughead; greasy burgers and old library books tainted with cheap cologne. Betty knew it wasn’t him, it _couldn’t_ be him. Perhaps that’s why she was crying, and the numb feeling she had revelled on for so long was dispersing. Betty stumbled in her heels, blinking rapidly. The club was pitch black apart from the flashes of Yellow, Green, Blue and Purple illuminating the bumbling crowd.

She didn’t remember how she had found the boy, or how he had found her. She just found herself swaying with him to the beat of a love ballad. And for the first time in forever, she felt happy. At peace.  Even if the boy holding her looked exactly like her dead boyfriend.

“Are you real?” She couldn’t help herself. It was like word vomit, mixing with real vomit as her throat burned. Suddenly those six shots didn’t seem like such a good idea. She hesitated before running her hand up his chest, grasping hold of his shirt and really feeling for it, to see if he would splinter into atoms, or morph into a completely different face. But he stayed. Betty pawed at his chest, grasping hold of his arms, her voice choked with sobs. “How- how are you real?”

The boy chuckled. “Dude, are you mistaking me for someone else?” Betty felt her heart clench, her stomach roll. It was his voice. Jughead’s voice. Her eyes stung, her throat closing up. All she managed was a soft moan while she waited for him to disappear.

The boy took a small step back, his eyes crinkling with worry. “Are you okay?”

 _I’m going crazy._ She told herself. But another little voice, a selfish one, murmured softly in the crevices of her mind. She was still drunk, so the voice was slurred and lacked logic, but in a way, it made complete sense; _“If you keep hold of him, he might not go. Grab him, quick!”_

So Betty did as she was told. She forced a watery smile and pulled him towards her, grabbing the collar of his white shirt.

She didn’t let go of the boy. She couldn’t. Not yet. Even if she was hallucinating, Jughead was really here. He was standing in front of her, his arms snaked around her neck. The boy still looked confused, opening his mouth every few moments to ask a question. But she blocked out his voice. Even if she craved it once more, gracing her ears. After a while of swaying to the music, Betty finally lifted her head and smiled at the boy. He grinned back.

“Thank you,” she said, having to shout over the music. “For coming back.”

The boy blew strands of his chocolate brown hair out of his eyes, his lips curling into a smirk. “Uh, you’re welcome?” He shook his head. “You’re a strange girl,” he said. “What’s your name, weirdo?”

“Betty.” She murmured softly. She swiped at her eyes which were filling up again. “Shouldn’t you know that though?”

The boy frowned. “What?” He chuckled again, cocking his head. “Nice to meet you Betty,” his eyes seemed to gleam, and Betty’s heart ached. His smile, if possible, could light up the club. He pointed to himself. She was waiting for his name. _Jughead._ She urged him to say. _Jughead, Jughead, Jughead._

“I’m-“

What seemed like a perfect moment was shattered by Kevin, moving in front of Betty. “She’s not interested,” He said firmly, before shoving a bottle of water in her face. “Drink.” His face was flushed under the club’s lights, and he looked pissed. His lips curled back into a scowl.

“Wait-” The Nameless boy- _Jughead_ \- yelled over the music. But Betty couldn’t reply, because Kevin was wrapping his hand around her arm and yanking her away from the boy. She twisted around to glimpse him for what was probably the last time, and felt goosebumps prickle across her neck when the boy seemed to disappear into the crowd. He was gone. Betty felt anger burn in her chest. She wanted to batter at Kevin’s arms, fight out of his grasp and run back. But Kevin wasn’t letting go, and she found herself being dragged through dancing bodies, which now when she was sobering up, seemed to be more like shadows, crashing into her, suffocating her. Though the anger drifted as quick as it had come, making way for numbness that wouldn’t subside.

Betty tripped over someone's feet, choking on bile creeping up her throat. She staggered to an abrupt halt by the door, and could feel the cool breeze on her flushed cheeks, blowing her hair around. Kevin stopped too, turning to frown at her. “Betty, what the hell?” he hissed. Though she wasn’t listening. The music was still pounding in her ears, and she could still _feel_ him on her, smell him- was it possible to even taste him? Betty felt her stomach roll, and she gagged, unscrewing the bottle and taking a long swig. Kevin stared at her, his dull blue eyes narrowing when she swiped her mouth and lowered the bottle. He was waiting for an explanation.

But for the moment, Betty wasn’t looking at him. Her gaze instead was behind him, picking apart the crowd. She saw familiar streaks of Blue and Gold. Bright red hair contrasting the lights perfectly and pale freckled cheeks. Betty lost her breath as the music around her seemed to dull, and nothing else mattered- _nobody_ else mattered- but the boy standing out in the crowd, stood there, smiling at her. Betty blinked once, then twice. But she wasn’t imagining it.

She could feel tears dribbling down her cheeks once more, but it felt good. It felt better.

Betty started to move forwards, as if she was in a dream. But Kevin was stepping in front of her, and once again reality was hitting her like a brick to the face. The world seemed to stagger around her, and focus in on Kevin’s face. His expression had softened, and she hated what she saw. Sympathy. Worry. Pain. Betty hadn’t once asked Kevin how he was since they had died.

“Kev-” she managed to say. But Kevin was already taking her hand and coaxing her out of the club and into the fresh night air. It felt amazing against her skin. Betty had so many memories of standing in the breeze, hand in hand with Jughead as they marvelled the constellations. Jughead would lend her an earphone as they listened to Duran Duran or some other stylistic artist he was obsessed with. But now it felt wrong. They were standing in the back alley’s of Riverdale, kids milling around, the dull thud of pop music from the club. She felt sick to her stomach, her throat burned, and Kevin was looking at her as if she was crazy. Like she had completely lost the plot. Which she was afraid she had. _She’d seen Jughead and Archie._

“First of all, how?” Kevin laughed harshly, running a hand through his hair. He was sweating, Betty noticed. Had he been running?  “Betts, you said you were going to dance!”  
  
She wasn’t sure what to say, so she just told him the truth. And saying those words while standing in a dress barely touching her knees clutching a half empty bottle of water, choking on bile in her throat, Betty finally realized she had hit rock bottom. And that damn, she was also fucking crazy.  
  
“Kevin, I know you’re not going to believe me,” she said softly. But the boy sighed, folding his arms. “Betty, what is it?” his tone softened.

Suddenly everything seemed to come crashing down. Betty was finding it hard to talk coherently, spluttering through sobs and hiccups. Her nose was running, eyeliner was streaked down her cheeks and her hair was a sweaty mess. But she hadn’t felt so _herself_ in so long.

“Archie.” she said softly. “I saw him, Kevin! In the crowd!” Kevin’s eyes widened, and she thought just for a second, that Kevin was going to crack too. But he seemed to steel himself.

“And- and Jughead,” she whispered, wiping her snotty nose on her arm. “I danced with him, Kevin.” she started to cry again, her breaths coming thick and fast. She tried to smile through her tears because they were back! Jughead and Archie were back, she had seen them! But Kevin was shaking his head. “Betty,” he murmured. She refused to look a him, only choosing to stare hard at the concrete pavement and the heels she had stolen from her mother. Her bruised toe stood out from someone stepping on her foot a few nights ago. “Betty, I know you think you can see them,” Kevin said softly. “I do too!” he let out a laugh, that she was sure disguised a sob.

“Betts, I love you to bits, but Jughead is dead, okay?” Kevin murmured. “So are Archie and Veronica,” he trailed off, sniffing and wiping his own eyes. “You saw them, Betty Cooper, because I left you for five minutes, and by the time I came back, you had downed god knows how many shots and started dancing with a handsome stranger.” He laughed again, and Betty couldn’t help it. She laughed too, hiccuping. Then Kevin wrapped his arms around her, and he was so warm, he was so gentle. She could fall asleep with her head in his chest. 

The boy’s voice reverberated in her ears as he spoke softly, while she squeezed her eyes shut. But all she could see was Jughead, dancing with her, smiling and twirling her around. The lingering smell of old library books and fry grease. The boy had felt so right, so real.

Did she really imagine him?

“Betty,” Kevin sighed. His voice broke, and it killed her inside.  “You need help.” He squeezed her tighter, rubbing circles into her back. “Just,  for god’s sake, Betty. Let me get you help.”

Betty felt herself collapse into the boy, and she nodded, burying her face further into Kevin’s chest. He smelt like strawberry shampoo and rich chocolate.

“Okay.” she said softly. _He was right. She needed help._

**Author's Note:**

> Leave Kudos if you liked, and tell me what you think! I'll continue if you guys like it :D


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